


Sexperimental Bio-Weapons of Mass Attraction

by Tish



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sex Pollen, Suspension, groan-worthy banter, secret pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24804745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: It's Saturday, so that must mean it's Illya's turn to be captured and subjected to ridiculously sexy methods of torture.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 74
Collections: Heat Fic Summer 2020





	Sexperimental Bio-Weapons of Mass Attraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astrospecial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrospecial/gifts).



“Feisty little guy, isn't he?” Petersen said as he watched the monitor, bits of bologna sandwich dropping onto the otherwise pristine workbench.

His fellow Thrush scientist, Dobret looked up and rolled his chair over to the monitor, gesturing at the ongoing fight. “Hey, it's Kuryakin. Look at him go! You know his pal will try and rescue him later. That'll be fun.”

Petersen snorted at the action onscreen. “There goes his shirt, his tailor must love him.”

“No, he looks more like an off-the-rack kinda guy,” Dobret said with a sneer, preening at his own ridiculously expensive suit underneath his lab coat.

“Huh, off his body, more like,” Petersen answered, zooming in as Illya's shirt was torn clean off him.

“You know U.N.C.L.E. headquarters in New York, right? Well the shop front is, get this, an actual tailor's,” Dobret mused, his Bunsen burner long-forgotten with all the excitement.

Petersen laughed as a Thrush mook tipped over, one hand grasping at Illya's trouser leg, a long, thin section of fabric tearing away as he fell to the floor.

Dobret rapped Petersen's shoulder with his knuckles, his face lighting up with glee. “Hey, Petersen, go check on our stock. We can test out some of the new batches on him.”

“Not now, I want to watch this. Besides, he might escape,” Petersen muttered back.

“You're new here, aren't you?” Dobret chuckled. “Kuryakin's been captured 17 times the past few months.”

“And that must mean he's escaped 17 times,” Petersen gestured at the monitor. His eyes suddenly grew wide. “Oh, that's playing dirty now!”

Dobret grinned as 2 female mooks came into view, suddenly laughing as Illya straightened up with a dismayed expression on his face, several unconscious mooks littering the floor around him. “We're Thrush, that's what we do!”

Petersen winced as the fight started anew. “Remind me never to cross any of the women working here, okay?”

Down in the depths of the Thrush bunker, Illya struggled against any gentlemanly notions about the fairer sex and did his best to engage the women without being a complete brute. Grappling against them, he stumbled and nearly tripped over a random mook, but managed to convert losing his balance into a nifty backflip to dodge out of the way of one of the women as she swung for him. A booted foot connected with his shin and he slumped to a knee, just as the other woman connected with a haymaker against his neck. Too late, he saw a foot rapidly closing the distance, as it slammed into his crotch, Illya's eyes crossed and he went down wheezing.

Back in the laboratory, Petersen whistled a low tone in sympathy as the mooks efficiently dispatched Illya to unconsciousness.

^*^

Illya woke to pain, groaning as he struggled against his restraints. It was cold, and there was a dank dampness in the darkness.

“Wonderful,” Illya muttered to himself, “I feel like a mushroom.”

Chains clinked against each other above him as he tried to move, a task made almost impossible due to being suspended and bound in a hog-tied position. He hissed a little as the metal manacles bit into his skin every time he tried to shift his weight.

His arms were folded behind his back and tilted up slightly, so any hidden tools he could have stashed on him were now totally out of reach, and as a cold breeze wafted over him, Illya remembered how his clothes had been torn in the fight. “Now I'm a naked mushroom. Can my day get any worse? Of course it can.”

To Illya, waiting to be interrogated and tortured was simultaneously boring and nerve-wracking. His ears caught every small sound in the cavernous space. A water drop could easily be a footstep, wind whistling through a grille could be a blade being sharpened. Silence could linger for so long it became dizzying white noise. Illya concentrated on constructing an escape plan. Any loosening of the chains presented an opportunity, his only chance of freeing himself. The only alternatives were torment at Thrush's slithery hands, or one of Napoleon's amazing rescues.

Illya knew what he preferred, hands down. All he could do was regain his strength and wait.

^*^

Muffled sounds began to filter through the ventilation shafts overhead, drawing Illya out of his thoughts. In the darkness, Illya tried to map out where the sounds were coming and going to, daring to hope that he wasn't hallucinating that they were coming closer.

He found himself smiling at the thought of Napoleon bursting through a door with a trademark quip. Whatever words that fell from his lips would be ridiculous, Illya knew, but he craved to hear them. Unprompted, an image of Napoleon's lips formed in his mind and a shiver ran down his spine. Another image of Napoleon wrapping him up in his jacket and pulling him close came to him.

 _Illya, you're losing your mind, thinking such thoughts._ But still he thought them, seeing himself nestled under Napoleon's chin as his partner felt along his body for injuries. The chains jingled as he felt his cock move, lengthening against his inner thigh. A note of panic sprang up in his mind as he imagined Napoleon seeing him naked and helpless, his cock erect for no damned good reason. His cock decided this to be a damn _good_ reason and started filling out, standing up against his thigh.

Illya groaned again, a groan of dread and lust in equal measure.

The sounds came closer and louder, then there was a commotion as a door was unlocked, then a lumbering groan as it was moved aside.

Dry-mouthed, Illya began a croaking question, but spluttered as something rained against his face, and he coughed, blinking as his stinging eyes watered. A beam of light flooded the room and he coughed blindly, setting the chains ringing again.

“Illya? Well, don't hang around, let's get outta here,” Napoleon said reasonably, slowly approaching.

Illya's coughing fit turned into a series of sneezes, punctuated by laughter, and he managed to heave a breath as Napoleon turned the flashlight away to spare his eyes.

“Let's see a way to get you down from here, Illya” Napoleon started, moving the light around.

There was a moment of silence, followed by a quiet, short humming sound. Illya instantly recognised it as the sound Napoleon made when he found something good to eat, usually accompanied by the word _delicious_. He stiffened in his chains and they rattled again. A strange sensation was starting to course through his veins and he found himself _wanting, needing_ Napoleon to notice his growing erection, to hum and declare it delicious.

His cock twitched again, and Illya felt like it had grown 6 more inches. Then there was that sound from Napoleon's lips -- that low, lusty note -- the lips Illya had found himself staring at when he thought Napoleon wasn't looking, and that sound of decadent, blatantly _obscene_ desire Napoleon made when he ate a hot dog with mustard _and_ ketchup.

Illya's eyes finally adapted to the new level of light and he saw Napoleon staring up at his erection. “Napoleon!”

“I was just about to go fetch a ladder, but if you keep thinking whatever it is you're thinking, I might be able to just lower you down like pulling the handle of an attic ladder down,” Napoleon slowly said as he tore his gaze away from Illya's cock over to his face.

Illya's eyes nearly rolled back into his head as Napoleon made a tugging motion, desperate pleading creeping into his voice, “I have never needed you as much as I need you right now. Please help me, Napoleon.”

Napoleon came closer, so close, but not enough to be able to kiss, his voice gentle and loving. “You know I'll always be here for you, Illya. Now, our guys are taking care of all those pesky mooks, so let me take care of you, then I can get a ladder and help you down. I'm not sure what they did to you, but I promise we'll get through this together.”

Illya nodded a little, dizzy and fizzing inside as he watched Napoleon tenderly take his cock in his hand. A heat welled up as Napoleon started pulling and rubbing up and down Illya's torment-filled length. Illya had to bite his lip to keep from pleading for Napoleon to fill his mouth with his cock, silently raging at the few inches of space keeping him away. It could have been miles for all he stretched and strained against the chains.

As he jacked Illya off, Napoleon wondered how the hell he was going to phrase this in his report. Better to just keep it simple. He watched Illya's face in the half-light, alternately hanging down in bliss, then stretching back up with a demented frenzied look in his eyes. Sweat beaded and dropped from his brow and his breathing was heavy and ragged. Napoleon was utterly beguiled, submerged and denied feelings starting to emerge within him. Touching Illya just casually always sent sparks through him, but here and now, he was touching and pummelling at Illya in the most intimate way possible. Illya was trusting him to do this, and Napoleon felt surprise at how easily he just did what needed to be done. He knew he wanted to do this again for Illya, later when they were safely alone. He wanted to do this and more, he wanted his lips and mouth roaming over Illya's body, to take his cock inside him, and to be inside Illya.

He scarcely dared to ask Illya before now, and perhaps he'd squander the chance later, so now Napoleon had to drink in every moment of this strange experience, to commit to memory every expression and cry Illya was making. Perhaps Illya would close off after this, never to speak of it again. He caught Illya staring steadily and fiercely into his eyes.

“Napoleon,” Illya could barely speak, but pushed on. “I want this, now and however long we have together. I know they did something to make me like this, but I _do_ like it, and I am like this. I want to – _fuck!_ ”

Liquid-like heat pooled in Napoleon's fist as Illya came, a slender trail sparkling in the light as it began to slowly slide down Napoleon's wrist. Illya's bright blue eyes also sparkled as he slowly moved his head into the light, his pupils dilating and expanding rapidly, matching the rate of his pounding heart.

Napoleon stared back at Illya, mesmerised by the beauty of what he'd seen. Slowly, he raised his hand to his lips, making sure Illya could clearly see. His tongue slowly cleaned the come from his fingers, licking down along his palm. Amazement and hope shone in Illya's eyes as Napoleon took a few steps back.

“Now, if you'll be okay, I'll go find a ladder and bolt-cutters or something,” Napoleon waved to a point above Illya as he went to the door, stopping to pat the frame. “Don't go away.”

Napoleon left to the sound of one, last frustrated groan.


End file.
